


Mémoire

by HenryMercury



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Humor, M/M, Memory Loss, News Media
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-12 01:17:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13536576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HenryMercury/pseuds/HenryMercury
Summary: Constitutionally unable to keep himself from giving the press the juiciest nugget he could think of at any given time, Lockhart had declared that it was the memory of his epic love affair with Malfoy Senior that brought him back from the clutches of the defectiveObliviate.





	Mémoire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Snortinglaughter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snortinglaughter/gifts), [Staganddragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Staganddragon/gifts), [aibidil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aibidil/gifts).



_"Hello handsome," Gilderoy says as Lucius enters the room._

_The nurses have assured him that his favourite patient does not respond this way to anyone else, and so despite the pain of not being recognised, Lucius revels in being identified as the most desirable even when Gilderoy does not recall their history together._

_"Hello gorgeous," he replies, a smile twitching at the edge of his lips._

_He holds his posture firm, as is befitting of a man of his stature; his influence is only growing as the Ministry becomes increasingly suspicious of Dumbledore, Potter and all the rash Gryffindor types who have held such sway over it since the Dark Lord's fall. In the current climate, the doubts Lucius sows take root readily. His ideas are finally the most politically (and financially) convenient ones making their ways into the ears of Ministry higher-ups, and if all goes well he'll have Albus Dumbledore replaced as Hogwarts Headmaster within the year._

_"Gorgeous," Gilderoy says thoughtfully. "People used to call me that, didn't they? Gorgeous Gilderoy! That's me!"_

_"It certainly is."_

_Lucius sits in the uncomfortable chair by Gilderoy's bedside. Gilderoy swings his legs over the side of the bed so that their knees touch. Lucius wants desperately to reach out and touch him, to slide his hands up the sides of Gilderoy's thighs until he reaches the bare arse he knows is waiting under the hospital-issue robe._

_He can't, though: he'll never be allowed to visit again if a member of staff walks in on him supposedly molesting a patient. And more importantly, though, Lucius Malfoy will not be fucked as a handsome stranger. He will be known to his lover. More than decency, this is a matter of pride._

_"I've been told I'm awfully famous," Gilderoy says, with a blinding grin that used to be full of so much_ more _than it is now. "I would love to hear more about that."_

_Lucius, who knows each of Gilderoy's tales inside out and has always had a good voice for reading, is always happy to oblige._

*

"Oh yes," Narcissa says blithely, "Lucius and Gilderoy have been... _liasing_ for years."

Poor Draco looks absolutely aghast. Harry doesn't blame him; he can hardly imagine what it'd be life if someone he'd always looked up to turned out to be shagging _Lockhart_ of all people. Lockhart, whom Harry hates nearly as much as he hates Lucius Malfoy. Perhaps they're made for each other, actually.

"You _knew_?"

"Draco, darling, please calm down. It wasn't exactly a well-kept secret; I'm sure half of wizarding society suspected it."

Draco takes a deep breath, trying to take his mother's advice and relax. He doesn't manage it very well. Harry lays a hand on his thigh just above the knee and squeezes gently. It makes him feel better too—he feels stiff and awkward and uncomfortably cold sitting on one of the presumably quite a few chaise lounges in Malfoy Manor, hearing about the sex lives of some people he's always hated.

"How could he hurt you like that?" Draco's voice is small. He's torn, Harry realises—torn between the ideal image of his father he wants to be able to maintain, and the deep-running, protective affection he feels for his mother. There's no question in Harry's mind which kind of allegiance will win out; only one is built wholly out of love.

"Hurt me? Whoever said I have been hurt?" Narcissa sips her drink. Harry's pretty sure it's brandy. It's half past ten in the morning. "If anything, Gilderoy saved me the trouble of sleeping with Lucius on an ongoing basis. It wasn't his desire, _nor_ was it mine."

Draco just groans and puts his head in his hands. The look on Narcissa's face tells Harry she finds the gesture unbecoming, but will tolerate it for her son at this difficult time.

"I am sorry you had to find out like this," she says.

Gilderoy Lockhart has, after a number of years in the Janus Thickey ward, regained enough of his memory to be released. He has been released into the care of his most frequent visitor (excepting the two years Lucius spent in Azkaban), and the benefactor who had funded St Mungo's' recent boom of research into memory charm recovery.

Constitutionally unable to keep himself from giving the press the juiciest nugget he could think of at any given time, Lockhart had declared that it was the memory of his epic love affair with Malfoy Senior that brought him back from the clutches of the defective _Obliviate_.

With the cat out of the bag—and his reputation in tatters post-war _anyway_ —Draco's father has embraced the narrative publicly. He's hardly been met with universal support, but there are certain corners who've rallied behind him to some extent: the gossip pages in the _Prophet_ and _Witch Weekly,_ depending on how these publications are feeling on any given day; the die-hard Gilderoy fans (Lockhearts, Harry thinks they're called. Or is it Lockheads?), unwilling to believe in the reported fraudulence of their hero; and parts of the queer community, too. That last one's a tricky one, because the fact that these two men are gay doesn't _absolve_ them of any of the shitty things they've done, but the nature of their relationship shouldn't be condemned simply because they're bad people. The two things may be coexistent, but Harry of all people gets how important it is not to conflate homosexuality with bad character in the public consciousness.

Harry knows it's mean, but when he and Draco get back to their flat he can't help the fit of laughter that bursts out of him. The whole situation feels _ridiculous_. Thankfully, Draco just rolls his eyes and tries valiantly to keep from snickering himself.

When Harry finds himself wracked by painful hiccups, Draco laughs openly at him for several minutes before going to find a potion to cure them.

"So, I guess Lockhart's kind of your stepdad now?" Harry says, grimacing as he swallows down the foul-tasting contents of the vial Draco hands him.

Draco, considerately, waits until he's finished swallowing everything before casting the bat-bogey hex.

*

_"Lucy!" Gilderoy cries as Lucius slips through the door. Lucius' breath catches._

_"You remember me?" he asks, slowly._

_"You're Lucius. Do you not remember me, or something? We met earlier this week. You read to me from a really excellent book—_ Gadding With Ghouls _was the title, I believe."_

_Lucius waves his wand to summon a nurse._

_"Yes, yes I do recall," he says, keeping his voice as level as he can. Composure at all times, he reminds himself. He is Lucius Malfoy._

_"His short term memory's healing at last, then!" the nurse pronounces happily. "I'll let Doctor Travers-Wolcott know. She'll be thrilled to hear the treatments she's been testing are producing results—and you, Mr Malfoy. We couldn't have done it without your financial backing."_

_Lucius permits the excitable young man to shake his hand. There aren't so many eager to do it nowadays._

_"Have you fixed me, then?" Gilderoy asks. "Whatever it is that everybody keeps saying is wrong?"_

_Lucius permits Gilderoy to take his hand, too, though he doesn't shake it, just presses it between his own two palms. They're warm and vaguely clammy, but the touch is still electric. Lucius is not a handsome stranger anymore. After long years of reintroducing himself each time he visits, wondering whether the more unpredictable effects of the dodgy memory spell will ever subside, Gilderoy knows him again—if only as a man who's visited before._

_"Yes," Lucius tells him. "It's your memory that's been damaged. The fact that you remember my previous visit means you've made very important progress."_

_"Jolly good!" Gilderoy grins, proud. "The papers will want to know, won't they? You said they love to write about me."_

_"I'll owl Rita Skeeter the moment I arrive home," Lucius promises._

*

"Tell you what," Draco mumbles into Harry's armpit, "I'm bloody glad I don't really live at home anymore."

Harry snorts, and tries so shift so that Draco's breath doesn't tickle the sensitive skin. He's too worn out to manage much movement, and if Draco was going to move he'd have turned his head for fresher air by now.

Harry casts a cleaning spell over his stomach, which wears most of the consequences of their earlier activity. It's four in the afternoon, but it's a dark, cloudy day and they barely slept last night, so he thinks a post-coital nap is a perfectly reasonable prospect.

"I don't even want to imagine," Harry shudders. Living with Lucius Malfoy _and_ Lockhart in the house where Voldemort based himself during the war sounds like cruel and unusual punishment on a scale that'd put Umbridge to shame. The fact that Rita Skeeter is their favourite house guest makes it approximately ten times worse, too.

"I know I'm always here anyway, but—" Draco says, quietly, and a little nervously if Harry's not wrong, "could I move in for real?"

Harry feels a flush of guilt. He'd figured that since Draco treated Harry's apartment like his home and hadn't spent more than a few days nights at the Manor in months, it went without saying that they've moved in together. Apparently this presumption was wrong, and it's been weighing on Draco this whole time.

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah, of course. I sort of figured you'd already done it, but I'm sorry I didn't ask. With words."

Draco mutters something Harry can't hear, and tucks his arm more tightly over Harry's torso.

"Where's your mum going to go?" Harry wonders aloud. He can't imagine Narcissa wants to stay at the Manor with a housebound Lockhart and an openly besotted Lucius, listening to Skeeter cooing at every ridiculous, exaggerated relationship detail they feed her.

"Italy."

"Your family has a house there?"

"No— well, yes, we do, but she's staying at the Zabinis'. Did you ever meet Blaise's mother?"

"Nope." Honestly, Harry barely knew who Blaise himself was until he started dating Draco.

"She's ethereal. I imagine mother's hoping they'll sleep together, if they aren't already doing it. It was _Capricia this, Capricia that_ when we went for high tea the other morning. Remind me to write to Blaise and threaten him with a slow and painful death if his mother hurts mine. She does have _quite_ the reputation."

Harry lifts a lazy hand to stroke through the loose ends of Draco's long, silky hair.

"Something tells me your mum can handle herself."

"You can handle yourself, but all your bloody friends still gave me that talk when they worked out we were shagging. Now shut up and let me sleep."

Harry keeps playing Draco's hair and listens to his breaths grow slow and even.

*

_"So we_ were _lovers," Gilderoy confirms. "Goodness, well done me! And well done you, too! Well done to the pair of us!"_

_Lucius lets out a small laugh. He's missed this about Gilderoy. He can't imagine having a relationship quite like theirs with anyone else. Even if Gilderoy has never been particularly invested in the pureblood causes of the Dark Lord, they're on the same page as regards everything else that matters. Before Gilderoy's accident, they understood one another. It's a thrill that he might be coming to understand Lucius once again._

_"Are you still married?"_

_Lucius hasn't told Gilderoy about his marriage—hasn't worn a ring or any other token of it into the Ward._

_"You're remembering more and more," he observes. Then, figuring that if Gilderoy has gone to the trouble of remembering enough to ask, Lucius might as well answer him: "Yes, I am still married. The ceremony Narcissa and I undertook cannot be dissolved."_

_"Do you still love this_ Narcissa _person, though?" Gilderoy asks, frowning._

_He has such an expressive face, and so often his emotions are writ large across it. Throughout his career his apparent transparency was an excellent way of throwing people off his scent: the scent of how cunning he is beneath the surface, how dishonest when necessary. Everyone knows now, of course. The bloody Potter child wasn't content with bringing down just one key figure from Lucius' life, oh no._

_Lucius is determined that both instances of downfall will be temporary. Gilderoy_ will _have his mind back in full. And the Dark Lord_ will _rise again._

_"Narcissa," Lucius repeats. "Yes, I love her, but only in the way I have always loved her: as a companion, a friend, a mother to my son. We love, but we have never been_ in _love. I have never wanted that from her. I have wanted it from you—and I continue to do so."_

_Gilderoy's face positively_ glows _with smugness. "Very good," he says. "Oh, very good indeed! Have you brought something to read me today? I think_ Magical Me _will be hard to beat, but who knows how far my former genius extended? Not me, ha! I should be thankful for the privilege of experiencing my own works afresh; everyone else in the world has had that chance, but of course, it is the author's curse that he never can."_

_"I've brought something different today, as a matter of fact," Lucius says, reaching into his pocket and producing the day's_ Prophet _, which he resizes and lays on the bed. On the front page, his own picture stares out from a photograph of Hogwarts' board posing with the newly appointed High Inquisitor Dolores Umbridge. "You're not the only one of us whose achievements have changed the world," he says, and Gilderoy leans forward interestedly as he begins to read._

*

"Apparently Lockhart is writing a new book about his experiences with memory loss, and his affair with my father," Draco says with a roll of his eyes as he steps out of the floo and hangs his coat in the cupboard nearby.

Harry's been waiting for him, ready with a three-finger glass of firewhiskey. Merlin knows he'd be the same if he were to have lunch with Draco's awful father and his awful father's new awful boyfriend.

"Father's lawyers are working on making sure he'll be able to receive the royalties. That they're not considered proceeds of crime, and so on. Honestly, as if Lockhart wants anything out of it but the attention."

Draco takes a pause from his speech to gulp down some of his drink. Harry sips from his own, and guides Draco gently over to the settee.

"Lockhart did lose all his money when he was exposed as a fraud," Harry points out. The arsehole had had to pay it to the various witches and wizards whose tales he'd stolen. He only avoided Azkaban because he was confined to Mungo's. "I'm sure it smarts, not being rich."

"My father is still rich enough for them both."

Harry agrees, but that doesn't mean Lockhart would.

"What's it going to be called?" Harry wonders. " _Loving with Lucius?_ "

"I will hex your mouth permanently shut, Potter."

Harry just grins, and licks his lips slowly, pointedly. "No you won't."

*

_My dearest Lucius,_

_I tore your letter into a thousand tiny pieces as you asked. I do hope you will not do the same with mine. I was sorry to hear that circumstances conspire to prevent you from visiting me. No one in the world should have the power to keep you and I apart, but I understand that discretion is the better (and sometimes the only) part of valour._

_I'm sorry to hear about your troubles with the Potter boy. I didn't think I could dislike him any more after you explained what he had done to me, but now those feelings are compounded by the fact that he has gone after the other person I hold most dear._

_I beg you to stay safe. Few causes could possibly make risking the safety of a powerful and handsome wizard such as yourself worthwhile. As you know, I have always found it infinitely better to allow others to do the more unpleasant work. You and I are above that; please remember your worth, and see to it that those around you do as well._

_Yours gorgeously,_

_Gilderoy Lockhart._

*

" _To all those who suffered during the war_ ," Draco reads aloud, more furiously mockingly than Harry has heard him speak since probably about fourth year. The _Prophet_ is propped up between him and his pumpkin juice, as he continues: " _let me be the first to assure you that those years pained Lucius Malfoy as gravely as they did any man_."

Harry makes a face. There aren't any words he can think of to say what he's feeling, listening to this rubbish, so he doesn't bother trying for any. He just shovels some bacon into his mouth and lets the absolute ire in Draco's voice be expressive on his behalf.

" _To be kept apart from the love of his life was a crushing burden to bear: I myself can attest to this, having suffered the very same fate_."

Harry chews his bacon more aggressively.

" _He has done what the Wizengamot asked of him to atone for his mistakes, and so have I. We now wish for nothing more than to be allowed the loving happiness that we have been cruelly kept from for eight torturous, nigh-eternal years."_

"I almost can't believe your dad lets him write these things."

"My father, it turns out, has always been willing to do whatever is necessary to restore his reputation. Grovelling and humiliating himself included."

Harry looks up as Draco slams the paper down, tearing a corner off the front page in the process.

"You're not like him, that way," Harry assures him. "All these stupid interviews don't reflect on you."

"Of course they reflect on me," Draco snaps, but he cools his anger a second later. He takes a deep breath, a swig of juice, and sighs. "He's my father. People will always associate what he does with me."

"Maybe they'll associate _him_ with _you?_ They'll say, _isn't it a shame that Lucius Malfoy couldn't be more like Draco._ He's up there talking about penance, but you—you've actually _done_ things to try and make up for what you did, and what he did too. I reckon once the gossip mill is tired of Lockhart's little fame tour, what people will remember about it all is how well Draco Malfoy did to turn out how he did despite certain parental figures in his life."

"Parental figure," Draco frowns, though Harry can see him relaxing, even preening a little bit at his reassurance. He's always ribbing Harry for saying sappy things, but he likes them better than his fancy Belgian chocolates, and he'll throw a tantrum if he has to go a week without a box of those stashed away to pick at after dinner. "My mother's influence doesn't deserve such reproach."

"I wasn't talking about your mother," Harry replies, trying very hard to keep a straight face. "I meant your stepdad."

He's ready with a _Protego_ for when Draco tosses his remaining pumpkin juice across the table at Harry's face, but the cleanup is still a pain.

*

_"Lucy!" Gilderoy cries out. "Lucy! You've come back to me!"_

_Lucius shuffles through the door. It still feels odd moving without heavy chains manacled to his limbs. He rubs at the pink scars on his wrists gingerly. He may have a fresh haircut, a glamour to hide the hollows around his eyes, and an expensive new set of silver robes, but Lucius knows what he has become. Knows how much work it will take to rebuild himself from the kind of ruin Azkaban makes of even the best._

_"What have they done to you?" Gilderoy's shining smile falls away as he regards Lucius. "I feared the worst when you disappeared..."_

_"Azkaban," Lucius nods. He does not elaborate._

_"The injustice of it all!" Gilderoy is scandalised._

_Lucius only shrugs. He knows, now, what the Dark Lord truly was. It really might be justice to lock away those naїve enough to have resurrected him, housed him, followed him. An egotistical maniac with no regard for the loyalty shown by Lucius and his family, and no intention of sharing the glory of any eventual victories with them. Lucius was a pawn to him—curse-fodder. In the end, the Dark Lord was a selfish fool._

_"It's over now," Lucius says._

_"Come here," Gilderoy instructs, sitting up on his bed where he's been reading_ Voyages With Vampires, _scooting over to make room and patting the mattress beside him. "Sit with me."_

_Lucius complies._

_"You fixed me right up after they mistreated me," Gilderoy whispers in his ear. "You did everything in your power. And I'm going to do the same for you. I'll make it better, Lucy. The very second I get the chance."_

*

The _Gilded Locks_ haircare range hits shelves a week after _Memories of Magic_ does, while the hype surrounding the autobiography is at its peak. Harry has even caught Hermione reading the damned thing—'hate-reading', she insists. Once, Harry wouldn't even have known that was a thing, but he's learned a lot from living with Draco.

The business is entirely Lockhart's by name—according to Draco it _wouldn't do_ for a Malfoy to be involved in actually _running_ a business—but Lucius is the prime investor and, to Draco's intense distress and Harry's delight, occasional model for the product's many flashy advertisements.

"Mr Malfoy," someone says, in a tone of voice that makes Harry cringe instinctively. He and Draco are walking down Diagon Alley trying to mind their own business, and still the stench of _reporter_ fills the air wherever they go. "Mr Malfoy, what haircare potions are you using today?"

Draco pauses beside Harry, and Harry lays a cautioning hand on his lower back. Usually Draco either ices out the journalists or he _eviscerates_ them, and he always hates himself for blowing up afterwards, when the papers run stories about how volatile and threatening he is.

Draco doesn't yell, to Harry's relief. Instead, he turns to the reporter—a younger woman with strawberry blonde, Skeeteresque curls atop her head.

"What hair products do I use?" he repeats, smoothly. Harry has to admit his hair looks very good; he almost can't blame the woman for asking. Almost.

"Yes. The readers of _Witch Weekly_ are dying to know."

"Why," Draco drawls, "Sleekeazy's, of course."


End file.
